I often feel cheerful, and sometimes even jubilant, that I have recorded so much of my life over close to five decades already. Everything is there in plain sight. Dates are there, as well. No-one I happen to know has such a stunning record of their own lives, let alone on the World Wide Web, of all places. And yet, there are ever more kinks in my jubilations. Quite a few of my pieces of writing, which I come across on my uncharted journeys through my magnum opus, are beyond me by now. For instance, names of people and places are confusing me ever more often. Who are these people? Which places are these? Slowly but surely, I am becoming aware of the ingrained limitations of my writings. As well as of my memory, I hasten to add. No matter how many words and dates I manage to leave in my wake, much of my life is bound to be lost to me for ever and ever. Chances are that the loss will only be growing with age, too. By the time I am about to depart from this mortal coil, nearly everything I will have written by then may well be no more than a jumble of words and dates. The mishmash. Come to think of it, though, this amazing record of mine might still be of some use to my few survivors. Cheerio!